


Eve of Disaster

by InkOutsidetheLines



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pre-Iron Man 1, Two Shot, set during season 2 episode 9 of supernatural, supernatural exists within the MCU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkOutsidetheLines/pseuds/InkOutsidetheLines
Summary: When entire towns go dark, the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division tends to notice. River Grove is no exception. Natasha and Clint didn't know what they would find when they investigated, but fake marshals, deadly viruses, and actual demons were not on their list.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

_This might be our kind of thing after all_. Natasha eyed the barricade blocking off the bridge that led into River Grove. It was an isolated town, a couple different bridges the only way in or out if one was traveling by car. Barricading those bridges didn't take a lot of effort. A few well-placed cars, a handful of armed people, and that was all it took.

"They're civilians," Clint said, voice pitched low so as not to carry. He had taken shelter behind a tree a couple feet away from her.

Natasha nodded, the movement barely perceptible, but she kept her eyes on the people guarding the barricade. Not a uniform among them, though a couple had clearly handled guns before. Probably hunting. Some others had clearly never touched a gun before in their lives, but they held on to them now with an eager tenacity.

"They're positioned to keep people in the town," Natasha replied.

"Guess we know part of the reason the town went dark," Clint said.

Right. Cutting off communications so no one could call for help was a good first step, if you were planning something big. Of course, cutting off communications was exactly what had gotten their attention in the first place. Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division kept their eyes out for that sort of thing.

_PR has got to come up with something better for our name._

"I recommend we get in and find out why this is happening before we start putting people down," Clint said.

"Agreed," Natasha said. She wasn't exactly eager to start killing civilians without some solid intel on what was happening. A pity they couldn't call for back up. She and Clint weren't exactly equipped with the right supplies to put down a town full of people via nonlethal methods. They could probably incapacitate this particular group, but it was too early to tip their hands.

The woods along the road provided plenty of cover for them to sneak past. Once Clint and Natasha reached the town, cover was a little harder to come by, but there weren't people around for them to dodge, which was both a lucky break and cause for concern. River Grove wasn't very big, but they should have seen someone.

_Hopefully it just means the innocent civilians are taking cover._

Movement caught Natasha's eye as she inched around a building. A black Impala was coming up the road, the first moving vehicle that they had seen in the town. Natasha went still, and she knew without looking that Clint had as well.

From across the street, a large black man armed with a rifle stepped out, calling for the vehicle to stop. _He's got military training._ The way the man moved, held his rifle, even the way he barked orders at the car spoke of it.

Natasha felt a tap from Clint, but she didn't take her eyes off the scene. She understood the unspoken message. He was going to get to a better angle in case this confrontation went south.

The car rolled to a stop, and from her position all Natasha could tell about the driver was that he was male and white.

"Are you one of them?" the ex-soldier shouted at the driver. "Are you one of them?"

The driver's door swung open, slowly. The driver got out, keeping his movements deliberate. Natasha could see him better now; well enough to realize that he was fairly young, early to mid-twenties, and that his demeanor was too calm to have never had a gun pointed at him before. Then, in one swift movement the driver had his own handgun pointed at the ex-soldier.

"I'm not one of them," the driver said. "What about you? Are you one of them?"

"I'm not," the other man said. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"How do I know that you're not lying?" the driver demanded in return.

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Men._ This wasn't going anywhere good. Deciding that Clint had had enough time to get in position, Natasha straightened and walked towards the two, pulling her badge out along the way. Both men whirled about and pointed their guns at her, but Natasha already had her hands in the air showing off her badge and an easy smile on her face.

"Relax, boys. It looks to me like you could both stand to settle down a little."

"Who are you?" the driver demanded.

"Agent Romanoff, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division," Natasha said.

"Never heard of them," the driver said.

"I have," the ex-soldier said, his rifle lowering just a hair. "A buddy of mine…his unit got in a bad situation overseas. There wasn't supposed to be any way to get them out, but your people did."

Natasha inclined her head just a fraction, but she kept her attention on the driver. If either of the men fired on her, it was going to be him. "It's what we do."

"If you're some kind of military group, what are you doing here?" the driver asked.

"We handle all kinds of situations," Natasha replied. "When an entire town goes dark, we notice."

The ex-soldier swore. "You think this is some kind of terrorist attack or something?"

"Don't know yet," Natasha said. "But it sounded like the two of you might know something."

The ex-soldier lowered his rifle completely. "All I know is that my neighbors – people I've lived next to and been friends with for years – have all suddenly gone insane and tried to kill me. Communications are down, too. Can't get anything to work. Not a phone, not even my computer."

_Not good._ Understatement, really. But Natasha didn't have time to indulge in the long list of adjectives that would more accurately describe the situation.

"And where do you fit in?" Natasha asked the driver.

"US Marshal," he replied. "My partner and I were in town to ask one of the locals some questions when all the craziness started."

"Well, marshal, I showed you mine, so why don't you show me yours?" Natasha said, glancing up at her badge and then back at him.

He muttered something under his breath, but he took one hand off his gun and pulled out a badge, flashing it briefly. It was all Natasha needed to see to confirm her suspicions. _Liar._ He was a good liar, and the ID was a good fake, but not good enough to get past her. Whatever he was doing here, he was definitely someone she needed to keep an eye on.

Natasha slowly lowered her arms, slipping her badge into a back pocket. "If things are as dangerous as you two say, perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere?"

The fake marshal grumbled and holstered his gun. "My partner is holed up in the medical clinic with some others. That's where I was headed."

Natasha decided to take that as an invitation. So did the ex-soldier apparently, as he approached the car as well. Natasha went for the back seat, letting the two men sit up front. She trusted that Clint wouldn't have a problem following the car through town.

"So, you fellows got names, or should I just call you both 'hey, you'?" she asked.

"Mark Varko," the ex-soldier answered.

The driver looked at her in the rear view mirror for a moment before he answered. "Billy Gibbons."

"Well, Varko, Gibbons," Natasha said. "Any idea what's causing this insanity to spread?"

"Not yet," Gibbons replied.

More bad news. If they knew how it was spreading, they might be able to figure out a way to stop it, or cure those affected by it. Without knowing how it was happening, stopping it would be that much harder.

It didn't take them long to make it to the clinic. As far as secure locations went, the clinic was hardly ideal. The front of the building was all glass windows and glass doors. Anyone who was decently determined would be able to get through, locked door or not.

As Gibbons was pulling out the key to the front door, Clint rounded the corner of the building. Instantly both men had guns pointed at him, and Natasha put herself in their way. "Easy! This is my partner, Agent Barton."

"You didn't mention a partner earlier," Gibbons snapped.

"You two looked like you might start shooting at me earlier," Natasha replied.

Varko huffed but lowered his rifle. "Today is not a good day to startle people."

"If I really wanted to startle you, I'd have dropped off the roof here, instead of the side of the building," Clint said cheerfully.

Gibbons lowered his gun and scooped the keys to the building back up off the ground. "What's with the bow?" Gibbons asked. "Government can't afford to give you real weapons?"

Clint just grinned, and Natasha had to suppress a smile of her own. It was always amusing when someone underestimated Clint because of his choice of weapon. "Nah, I've got a gun. Just like bows."

Gibbons opened the door, and they followed him in. He flipped the lock back in place before leading them back into the clinic. The inner doors were a little more substantial, but far from security doors.

They reached a back room where three other people – two women and a man – waited. Natasha gave them a quick once over; one woman wore a name tag identifying her as Dr. Lee, and the other woman was dressed in colorful scrubs that identified her as a nurse. Which meant the man must be Gibbons's partner.

_Big, probably strong, definitely armed. Cast on his right wrist; if I have to take him down, go from the right._

"Mark!" Dr. Lee said. "Thank goodness you're okay." She glanced over Natasha and Clint, clearly nervous. "Is this the help you went for, marshal?"

"Not exactly," Gibbons replied. "I wasn't able to get out of town. The road is barricaded." He jerked a thumb in their direction. "Found these two on the way back. They're with … what was that name again?"

"The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division," Natasha replied.

"That's a mouthful," Gibbons's partner said, his eyes narrowed as he studied them.

"PR is working on it," Clint said dryly.

"I'm Agent Romanoff, and my partner is Agent Barton," Natasha said, taking the lead. "We were sent to investigate why River Grove suddenly cut off all contact. And you all are?"

"Frank Beard," Beard said. He was as good a liar as Gibbons. "This is Dr. Lee and Pam."

"Where's the Tanner lady?" Gibbons asked.

Dr. Lee and Pam both looked off to the side at a closed door. "She was infected," Dr. Lee said. Pam shivered at her words.

Gibbons swore, running a hand through his hair. "Do we know how it's spreading?"

"Through blood," Dr. Lee said. "I ran some tests. As far as I can tell, it's some kind of virus."

"If it's a virus, then can it be cured?" Natasha asked.

Beard winced at the question, his eyes darting away for a moment. The expression was subtle, but definitely there. _He knows something. Something Dr. Lee hasn't mentioned._

Dr. Lee was shaking her head. "I don't know. If a cure can be created, it's not something I can do here."

Varko took a step towards the door. "Then we're going to have to put her down."

"Whoa now," Clint said, taking a step to the side. "Let's pause a second. If she's contained, we don't need to kill her. Just because Dr. Lee can't put a cure together right this second doesn't mean someone won't be able to cure it later."

"You don't get it!" Varko snapped. Pointing at the door, he said, "The infected people just get stronger in time! Believe me, I fought some of them! It won't be long before she's able to break through the door, and then she'll infect the rest of us! We don't have a choice."

"But – but this is Beverly!" Pam said, her eyes darting between them as she hugged herself. "I mean, we can't seriously be considering killing her? It's _Beverly_!"

"No, it's not," Gibbons said. His hand inched back towards his gun. "It wasn't Beverly anymore the moment it was infected. Varko is right; we have to make sure the rest of us stay safe. We have to put it down."

Natasha shifted, making sure she was ready to move fast if needed. "Or, we could reinforce the door to make sure she can't break through even when she gets stronger. Our organization has a lot of resources. Given time, we might be able to cure Beverly and the other infected people. We definitely can't cure them if they're dead."

"All due respect, _agent_ ," Gibbons said in a tone that was clearly intended to be offensive, "given time, _we_ might all end up dead! That's not a risk I'm willing to take. Not for one person."

"All due respect, marshal," Natasha said, letting sarcasm drip from the title, "my organization is in the business of saving people. What exactly are you in the business of?"

Beard drew in a sharp breath, and Gibbons went still. Natasha had meant the jab to let them know she was aware they weren't really US marshals in hopes that they'd want their cover kept, and so maybe would follow her lead for now. But obviously something about her words had hit both of them far harder than she had expected.

Varko shook his head. "Sorry, but keeping it alive is too risky."

He'd barely managed to take a step before one of Clint's arrows whizzed past him, landing next to the door handle. Varko jerked back with a curse as the arrow hissed and fizzed, foam spewing out of it, building on itself until it covered the door handle and half of the doorframe before it hardened.

"What the hell was that?" Gibbons demanded, his gun now drawn but not pointed at anyone.

"Me, reinforcing the door," Clint replied. "She won't get through that." Neither would anyone else, which hung in the air unspoken.

"Not what I was asking," Gibbons said. "The hell kind of weapons do you have?"

Clint grinned at that. "Told you I liked bows better."

"You can compare toys later," Natasha said. "Right now we need to strategize. Varko, you're on lookout duty. Dr. Lee, Pam, I want the two of you taking inventory of everything in the clinic; we need to know what supplies we have on hand. Marshals, we'll need the two of you to help us come up with a plan."

"Hold on a second," Varko said stepping forward. "Just what gives you two the right to come in and start making decisions for everyone? You're putting all our lives at risk!"

_We don't have time for this._

"If you want to waste your time trying to get through the seal Barton put on that door so you can murder Beverly Tanner, be my guest," Natasha snapped. "If you'd rather do something _useful_ , you can keep watch so that other infected people don't break in and put us in actual danger!"

Varko glared at her, but Natasha held her ground. Muttering under his breath, Varko wheeled around and marched out of the room back towards the front of the clinic.

"I guess we'll go do that inventory," Dr. Lee said, and she and Pam left the room too.

_Finally._

Natasha immediately turned her attention to Beard. "What do you know about the virus that you aren't telling us?"

Beard jerked, obviously startled by her question. Gibbons looked surprised as well, so whatever it was that Beard knew, it wasn't something that he'd had time to share.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Beard said. "Dr. Lee is the one that studied the virus, not me."

"And yet you still know something," Natasha said.

"Look," Gibbons said, raising a hand. "If my partner says he doesn't know anything – "

"Then he's lying," Natasha said. "Withholding vital information in a situation like this gets people killed."

Beard sighed and looked down for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "Agent, you're not going to believe me."

"We're trained for weird," Clint said, leaning back against the wall. "Try us."

Beard and Gibbons exchanged another look, and Gibbons snorted before crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, bet you're not trained for our kind of weird."

Natasha didn't say anything, she just watched Beard and waited. Beard took a deep breath and said, "Okay, fine. The virus is of demonic origin, that I know for sure. I suspect it might be caused by a demon that's also responsible for the Roanoke Colony disappearing, because we found the word 'croatoan' carved into a light pole. I have no idea whether or not it's possible to cure someone that's infected."

_He actually believes that._

Of course, just because Beard believed what he was saying didn't mean he was right. The very idea was a little out there, even for someone in Natasha's line of work.

"Seriously?" Clint asked. "You think there's an actual demon involved in this mess?"

Beard shrugged. "Told you that you wouldn't believe us."

"Let's pretend we do," Natasha said. "What would be the demon's end game? Why is it doing this?"

"That we don't know," Gibbons said. "Demons are evil bastards; maybe it just wants to cause chaos and suffering."

Natasha frowned, because that couldn't be right. "No. There's a point to this. It's too controlled."

"You call letting loose a virus that turns people into homicidal maniacs controlled?" Beard asked.

"In this case, yes," Natasha said, turning over what she knew in her mind. "The perpetrator – whoever they are – chose an awfully isolated town if what they wanted was chaos. Then they went through the trouble of cutting all lines of communication. Whatever their goal is, they want it done quietly."

"And the infected aren't exactly random in their attacks," Clint observed. "From what you've said, they're specifically targeting people that aren't infected in order to infect them, though how they can tell the difference is anyone's guess. Barricading the roads to prevent people from leaving takes coordination and planning. The virus might make them violent, but it doesn't make people stupid."

Beard winced. "And viruses don't give people shared goals," he said, clearly following their logic.

Gibbons looked over at him sharply. "Wait. Are you telling me that the demon that caused this is still around?"

"Probably," Beard said. "The infected people have to be getting their orders from someone. I mean, I could see the virus giving them the drive to infect anyone who wasn't already infected, but they've got a point. How could a virus make them decide to barricade the town and keep everyone inside?"

"Well great," Gibbons said. "That's just great."

"It gives us a direction," Beard said. "If we kill the demon, maybe that solves the virus issue."

Natasha didn't see how that would work, but it was hardly the time to quibble over it. "So how do we find and kill a demon?" she asked.

Gibbons glanced over at her. "Didn't think you two believed us."

Natasha shrugged. "Not sure that I do. But discussing a demon is the first time the two of you haven't been actively trying to lie to us, so I'm willing to give it a shot."

Clint straightened from where he was leaning against the wall. "Speaking of lying, what are you two exactly? Because you sure aren't marshals."

They exchanged a look before Beard replied. "We're hunters. We hunt down and kill monsters."

_Still not lying._

It bothered Natasha that the things they said that should have been obvious lies simply weren't.

"As for finding the demon," Gibbons said, "that's not always easy. They possess humans."

"Can they possess anyone?" Natasha asked sharply. Because she might not exactly believe them, but if they were _right_ , that was really bad news.

"Depends on how powerful the demon is," Beard replied. "The stronger they are, the easier it is for them to possess someone. But in general they tend to go after people that are weak willed, or people that have chinks in their emotional armor. People that are scared or hurting."

Clint snorted. "Well they've got their pick of scared and hurting right now."

"Yeah, that's a problem," Gibbons said. "But there are ways to test and see if someone is possessed. The easiest is to say 'Christo' and see if they flinch. Holy water works too. They can't cross salt lines, and devil's traps will stop them. An exorcism will get rid of them."

"And once the demon is gone, what happens to the person they had possessed?" Natasha asked.

Beard looked down as Gibbons replied. "That depends on what happens to them while they're possessed. Demons can keep a body going through a lot of damage. Once the demon is gone, well."

"I get the idea," Natasha said.

Clint glanced her way, and Natasha could read the question in his eyes. _Are you really believing this?_

Natasha … wasn't sure. Demon would never have been her go to answer for strange events. _People_ could be monsters all on their own. Just because she didn't understand how people managed to do things sometimes didn't mean there was anything unnatural involved.

But the way Beard and Gibbons talked about this, they _believed_ it was true. They weren't just making stuff up. In fact, the way they phrased their answers made it sound like they'd dealt with demons before now.

If it was true, if there really were demons and other monsters out there, Natasha wasn't sure what that meant for the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. It would mean there were all kinds of threats out in the world that they weren't in any way prepared to deal with.

_And that will be a problem for Fury and the World Security Council._

For the moment, they had a situation to contain, and civilians to protect. And – possibly – a demon to kill.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean gathered all the gear out of the Impala that he thought that he and Sam might need to exorcise the demon when they found it. He tried to move as quickly as he could, not really eager to stay outside long enough to be seen by anyone that was infected. Of course he had Agent Barton with him, ostensibly acting as his backup for that very situation. But Dean was pretty sure that the real reason he had volunteered to help was because he wanted a look inside Baby's trunk.

_Yeah, well, take a look. I don't care._

"So," Barton said, his voice surprisingly relaxed considering the situation they were in. "How long have you and your partner been hunting?"

Dean spared him a glance, but Barton wasn't actually looking at him. Instead he was scanning their surroundings, keeping a lookout for anyone that might be infected. "A while."

"Ever run into something like this before?"

Dean shoved the last of the supplies that he thought they'd need into his duffle bag and closed the trunk. "No, this is weird even for us. I mean, it's not our first demon, but targeting an entire town is a new one. Most monsters prefer to fly under the radar."

Barton nodded. "I see. Wonder why this one broke the pattern."

Dean shot him a look, because he was pretty sure that Barton didn't believe their story about a demon being the root of this mess. But whether or not he believed didn't matter, as long as he and Romanoff didn't get in the way.

_Right. Like they haven't already gotten in the way with the Tanner woman._

But Dean didn't want to think about that, because then he had to think about Romanoff's words – _we're in the business of saving people –_ and it made him feel sick.

_Damn it, I am saving people! Sometimes you just can't!_

"We'd better get back inside before something spots us," Dean said, swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder.

They'd taken all of one step and then a guy sprinted around the corner. Barton sighed. "You had to say something."

Dean was about to shoot back a sarcastic retort when Barton hopped up on the trunk of his car and then the roof. "Hey! No one stands on Baby!"

Barton ignored him. Dean didn't have time to complain about it, because the guy had noticed them and was now sprinting in their direction. "Please, you have to help me!"

Dean's free hand went to his gun. He didn't trust anyone in this town, begging for help or not. But following after the guy came four people, and judging by the knives they were waving and the blood on their clothes, they were infected. Dean pulled out his gun. He didn't care if the people weren't in control of themselves, he wasn't about to let them infect anyone else. But before he could even properly aim Barton let loose with an arrow. It arced over the guy's head and landed just in front of the infected. The arrow immediately hissed and released a cloud of gas.

"Do you have any normal arrows?" Dean asked.

"One or two," Barton replied.

Dean's mouth twitched. He could picture the smug look Barton was probably wearing. But he didn't take the time to look. He kept his eyes on the infected, who were slowing down and staggering after being doused with whatever gas had come from the arrow. The guy ran towards them despite their weapons being pointed in his direction, but he kept his hands in the air.

"Please, don't shoot!"

Dean didn't shoot, but he didn't lower his gun either. The guy didn't seem to be armed, but Dean wasn't taking any chances. The infected behind him fell over on the sidewalk and didn't move. The guy looked over his shoulder and slowed when he saw that he was no longer being chased.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

He turned back towards Dean, and with a chill Dean noticed the distinctive scar on the guy's forehead. He knew the answer before the guy opened his mouth.

"Duane Tanner."

_He's the one._ The one that Sam had had the vision of. The one that Sam had seen Dean kill.

Barton hopped back down to the sidewalk, jerking Dean out of his thoughts. "We'd better get inside before anyone else comes along."

Dean hesitated for a brief moment, but then he nodded and slipped his gun back into place. "Right. Let's go."

"Who are you guys?" Duane asked.

Barton put his hand on Duane's shoulder to guide him to the clinic door. "I'm Barton. He's Gibbons. Short version, we're trying to keep people alive."

Dean didn't say anything, just let Barton lead the way back into the clinic. Varko opened the door for them, and Duane looked relieved at the sight of a familiar face. "Sarge, you're here!" he said. "What's going on?"

Varko didn't look as pleased to see Duane as the teen did to see him. He held his gun at the ready, and Duane's smile dropped. "Sarge?"

Varko glanced between Dean and Barton. "You sure he isn't infected?"

"No," Dean said.

"Well, partially sure," Barton said. "Other infected people were chasing him. I wouldn't be against restraining him until Dr. Lee can confirm though."

"Restrain me – what's going on?" Duane asked. He looked between them, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Sorry, kid," Barton said. "It's been a rough day for everyone."

Barton put a hand on Duane's shoulder, steering him into the back room, and Dr. Lee paused in the middle of reporting inventory to Romanoff to look their way. "Duane! Are you okay?"

"No!" Duane said. "I come back from a fishing trip and people are trying to kill me, and now these guys are talking about restraining me, and infections…Dr. Lee, what's going on?"

There was banging on the door of the storage room Beverly Tanner was locked in. Duane jumped and turned, his eyes going wide when he saw her face in the door's narrow window. "Mom? What's my mom doing in there?"

Dean exchanged a glance with Barton, who nodded, and together they grabbed hold of Duane, muscling him over to a chair. He tried to struggle, but one teen was no match for the two of them, and they got him down and cuffed his arms to the chair.

"Duane, it's going to be okay," Dr. Lee said, but the way her voice shook probably wasn't all that reassuring.

"What's happening?" Duane asked, his voice cracking. He was pale and frightened, and Dean felt prickles of uncertainty.

_What would make me kill him?_

Duane was what, late teens? Not much more than a kid, really, and terrified out of his mind. What could possibly make Dean decide that killing him was necessary? The vision had to have left something out. There had to be something they weren't seeing yet.

"We're not totally sure about that," Dr. Lee said. She summarized what little she knew about the situation, which didn't look like it was having any kind of calming effect. "So, I just need to take a blood sample so I can test it, and if you're not infected, we'll let you go."

"This – this is insane," Duane stammered.

Barton rolled his eyes, leaning back against the table. "It's just a blood sample, kid, relax. The needle won't even hurt that much, Christo."

Duane flinched. For a second, his eyes were totally black. Dean moved on instinct, darting forward to grab Dr. Lee and drag her back. His mind was already buzzing, realizing that the demon wasn't in a demon trap, and those cuffs were no where near strong enough to keep him restrained.

The demon possessing Duane sighed, and with a sharp yank broke the cuffs that were supposed to keep him in the chair. "Well, this is annoying."

Shots rang out, Dr. Lee screamed, and Dean dove to the side dragging her with him. Duane looked vaguely annoyed as bloodstains bloomed on his shirt; Varko was unloading his gun into him, but it wasn't going to do any good. Duane raised a hand and made a shoving motion and Varko went flying, slamming into the wall and dropping to the floor.

Barton's bow was up, and an arrow flying. Duane caught it. "An arrow? If bullets can't kill me, what makes you think – "

The arrow exploded. Because of course Barton had freaking exploding arrows. Which also wouldn't kill the demon, but it would sure work to keep him distracted.

"Keep him busy!" Dean shouted, going for the duffle bag of stuff he'd brought in and dropped. He needed the book.

"I'm going to rip out your spleen," Duane started, then more shots rang out, and Dean didn't bother looking up to see if it was Sam or Romanoff shooting him this time, because the book was in his hands and he had to find the right page.

Someone slammed into him, knocking Dean to the ground and sending the book skittering out of his hands. It was Pam, who didn't seem nearly as cute as he'd first thought with her face twisted in a snarl as she tried to strangle him. Dean held tight to her wrists, trying to push her off of him, but she was stronger than she had any right to be.

"You're ruining everything," she snarled.

Romanoff loomed up behind her and pistol whipped her. Pam went limp, meaning she was just infected, not possessed. Dean shoved her to the side, and Romanoff dropped the book in his hands. "Exorcism, _now_."

He flipped it open to the right page and started to read. Duane whirled towards them. "No!"

Romanoff levelled her weapon and fired, slowing Duane enough that Dean was able to get into the exorcism. Duane shrieked, then black smoke billowed from his mouth and plunged into the ground. Slowly, his body toppled over to the floor.

"Is that it?" Romanoff asked.

"For the demon, yeah," Sam said. "For the infected…"

"What's going on?" Dr. Lee babbled. "What just happened? Why – why are you talking about _demons_ , I don't understand?"

Dean winced. This was not a great way from someone to find out the truth. Sam moved her way, hands up in a placating gesture, tone soothing as he tried to calm her down. Dean decided to let him do his thing and turned to glare at Barton.

"What the hell, man? You couldn't have waited until we had him trapped to drop a Christo?"

"I did wait," Barton said. "You didn't mention the super strength!"

"How was them being super strong not _obvious_?"

"Easy, boys," Romanoff said. She holstered her weapon and went to check on Varko, who wasn't conscious yet but seemed to be breathing.

Dean grumbled, but didn't keep pushing. "How'd you even know that was the demon?" he asked instead.

Barton shrugged. "The way he showed up was too convenient. Seemed a safe bet it was the demon trying to get in with us for some reason."

The logic tracked, but it made Dean uneasy.

_Why would he do that?_

There had to be a reason, a point to all this madness, but for the life of him, Dean couldn't figure it out.

" _If you can't save Sam…you'll have to kill him."_

The memory of his father's last words sent a chill through him. _No. No, this has nothing to do with Sam._

Except lately, it seemed like everything the demons did had to do with Sam, even if Dean didn't understand why. He glanced Sam's way; Dr. Lee was calming down, still looking frightened but no longer panicking as Sam explained things to her.

_This has nothing to do with him. Nothing._

* * *

_Guess getting rid of the demon did magically fix the infected people,_ Natasha mused. She didn't understand how that worked, but it apparently it did, so she wasn't going to argue with it.

All told, the day could have gone much worse. In the end, only a small handful of people had died. Which was still more than she had wanted, but sometimes there was no way to save everyone.

Beard and Gibbons had left as soon as Dr. Lee had confirmed that the infected were cured. Natasha wasn't concerned about it. They didn't know it yet, but she'd be seeing them again.

A dark SUV pulled up to the curb where she and Clint were waiting, and the door swung open, letting Coulson out. He eyed the two of them. "I'm assuming from the lack of details in your initial report that this is going to be a strange one."

"Oh, you have no idea," Clint said.

"Sir, I believe Director Fury is going to want to hear about this one," Natasha said.

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She nodded. "We need to report the discover of a new species, possibly magic, and make recommendations for new recruits."

As a rule, most agents were good at deadpan stares. But no one could do it quite as well as Coulson. Finally, he sighed. "Alright. I'll make a call."

* * *

The man stood out the moment he walked into the diner. Between the eyepatch, dramatic trench coat, and wary looks sent his way, it was clear he wasn't a local. Which made it all the more alarming when he moved deliberately towards Sam and Dean's table. Sam tensed at his approach.

"Evening, gentlemen," the man said. "Mind if I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer before claiming on of the empty seats at their table.

"Looks like you're not giving us a choice," Dean said, eying the man with as much distrust as Sam felt.

"Not about whether we have this conversation, no," the man agreed. "But you want to talk to me."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"My name is Nick Fury," he said. "I'm the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

Sam immediately recognized the name of the agency that Romanoff and Barton worked for, and a glance at Dean confirmed that he did too. But it had been two days since the events at River Grove. "How'd you find us?"

"Finding people is a part of what we do," Fury said.

"Okay, then _why'd_ you find us?" Dean asked. "What do you want?"

Fury folded his hands together on the table. "First, I'd like to thank you. Then I'd like to offer you two a job."

"…Come again?" Sam managed. That was so far outside what he had expected, he didn't know how to respond.

Fury looked faintly amused, but the expression lasted only a moment. "Romanoff and Barton are two of my best, and they had no idea what they were walking into. If the two of you hadn't been there, that situation could have gone very poorly."

"You're welcome," Dean said, "but I still don't get the job offer bit."

"Our organization was founded to protect people," Fury said. "Usually from things that are too difficult for others to handle, things it's usually better that your average citizen doesn't know about. Only it seems there's a whole host of things out there killing people that _we_ never knew about. I intend to fix that."

He shrugged. "We're going to deal with these monsters with or without your help. But I figure if we have a couple of experts help us get started, we'll be much more effective, and fewer of my agents will die in the process."

_Is he serious?_

Sam glanced Dean's way, and saw the incredulousness echoed on his face. "You actually believed the report about a demon?" Sam asked. He couldn't get over that; people who hadn't seen monsters never truly believed in them.

"Sam, when you've seen the thing that I've seen," Fury told him, "monsters and magic aren't that much of a stretch."

There was a pregnant silence. "How do you know my name?" Sam asked. "We never told your agents our real names."

Fury smirked. "I'm a spy. It's what I do."

That was alarming in and of itself, and Sam still had no idea how to respond.

"The offer doesn't just benefit my organization," Fury said. "We have a lot of resources that you'd find helpful. Like teams of analysts that could spot patterns for monsters, if they knew what they were looking for. An R&D department that would have a field day designing new weapons to use against monsters. A real badge with enough weight behind it to get you in on FBI cases if you needed. A paycheck. Health insurance. It even includes dental."

"And what's the catch?" Dean asked sharply.

Fury considered. "You'd have to write reports. And there's a dress code."

"Say we agreed," Sam said. "What if we changed our minds later?"

Fury leaned back in his seat. "Then you quit. It's a job, not a prison. You're allowed to walk away." He reached into his coat, making Sam tense again, but he just pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it onto the table. "Your official offers are in there. Take your time and read through it, think about your answers." He stood and nodded at them. "Nice meeting you two, Sam, Dean. I'll find you for your answer later."

As soon as Fury left, they paid their check and hightailed it back to their motel. "What the hell is happening?" Dean demanded.

Sam was reading through the contracts that Fury had left them. "Uh, based on this, it looks like he's actually offering us jobs."

Dean shook his head, pacing around their small hotel room. "There's got to be a catch. This kind of thing doesn't really happen."

"I…think it is happening."

Dean stared at him. "You can't be serious."

Sam gestured at the paperwork. "This stuff looks pretty real, Dean."

"It's some kind of trap," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, if they wanted to arrest us or something, they could have just shown up with a team to try and take us, but they didn't."

"There's got to be _something_ bad in there," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "There's a line that talks about arresting us if we shared classified information, but that's about it. They, um. They offer paid vacation days."

"Paid vacation," Dean repeated.

"Uh huh. Two weeks. Two weeks unpaid as well. And the pay is, well…" He pushed the contract Dean's way.

Dean leaned over the table and let out a low whistle when he saw the number. He looked over at Sam. "You think we should do this, don't you?"

"I kind of do," Sam said. "I mean, think about what he said. Whole teams of analysts looking for monsters. Dean, we scan newspapers, and yeah, I search online too, but I'm one guy with a laptop. I miss stuff, stuff they'd catch. And the point of what we do is _saving_ people. Imagine how many we could help with their resources."

He didn't say anything right away. Just studied Sam. "Okay. And what'll they do if they find out about you? About your visions?"

That stopped Sam cold. What _would_ they think of that? Would they still think he was one of the good guys, or would they lump him in with the monsters? "They don't have to know about those," Sam said. "We can keep it hidden."

"That's a big risk, Sam," Dean said.

"I know," Sam said. "But I think the trade off is worth it." The number of lives they could save it they just had the resources to do it…it was staggering. Sam didn't know how they could walk away from this offer without at least trying to see if it would work.

"This is insane," Dean said, running his hands through his hair.

"Are we doing it then?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll do it. We'll work for the Strategic Homeland Whatsit Division."

"If we're going to work for them, you should probably learn their name," Sam said dryly.

"Or maybe they should get a name that's less dumb, have you thought of that?"

Sam just grinned. His gaze dropped down to the paperwork, studying the stylized eagle at the top. _Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division._

_Here we come._


End file.
